Demons
by catalystic
Summary: It is a fact of life that, as living beings, we sin. We desire what we cannot have. And we all have our demons. But how you deal with those demons is always a choice left up to you and you alone. Maker be damned. If you desire something so strongly, is that not enough to overcome those demons? But perhaps...that isn't always enough...A young elven mage will soon find out.
1. Treasure

**Author's Note: **So I have been toying with this plot idea for a while, always wanting to create and write something that would be long and enjoyable for people, something to give me an urge and need to write frequently, to not let others down. And, with the release date of the newest Dragon Age game coming out, sometime this Fall in 2014, I felt that it was the perfect time to brush up on lore, gameplay, and refresh my mind of the love I have (always had) for Dragon Age: Origins. Especially the characters and lore. _Especially_ the characters and the lore. Please refrain from rude comments, although constructive criticism is welcome. Excuse possible OOC actions of certain characters, especially those with not much dialogue. I will try my damnedest to capture the character personalities since I love them with all of my heart.

Read, review, or just silently observe. All that matters is I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original.

**One**

_Treasure_

Her hair is the color of copper, like a cascading waterfall of shiny new bits as they tumble into the coin purse of a wealthy nobleman. And while her hair is a glistening hue of orange, her eyes are a magnificent grey, speckled with flecks of the softest blue that he has ever seen. They instantly make him think of diamonds, chiseled and polished to perfection, the envy among the gems. Or perhaps even stars that dot the night's sky. Her flesh, white like the snow, is without a single blemish, freckle, birthmark, or scar, flawless and untouched. So pure and vibrant, without flaw and without defect, something that perhaps even the prophetess Andraste herself would be jealous of.

Poking out from between strands of her beautiful, silky copper hair are a set of pointed ears, each decorated with three silver hoops dangling from the thin cartilage, leading down until they reach her earlobes. Usually hidden behind her curtain of hair, sit a pair of silver earrings, each little tear-shape hanging from a braided chain and embedded with sapphires.

In spite of always seeming to be on the go or having something to do, she always leaves her long, waist-length hair down, allowing the straight locks to tumble down her back, trailing after her like a cape when she walks. Even so, her copper tresses remain bright and untangled, smooth and shiny like the finest silks all of Thedas has to offer. Were he not so blatantly aware of her impressive devotion to her lessons and studying, he would surely assume that the only thing she does all day is run a comb through her hair to keep it so perfect. But it just remains so without her effort. Just like the rest of her, it remains flawless.

Her frame is naturally petite, which is expected of those of the Elven race, but she is perhaps even more lithe than the usual Elf. Aside from the children that run around the tower, he has not yet seen another adult, Elf or Human, smaller than her. Even with such a willowy frame, it has not gone without notice (not just to himself, either) that she possesses a chest size that is not entirely modest. Andraste shame him for his impure thoughts and inability to NOT notice! But either way, her curves are neither drastic nor overwhelming; they are subtle and sweet, much like the girl encased within them.

To him, there is not a single woman in this entire tower, Ferelden, Thedas – or even the whole world – more beautiful than she is. Even while donning her robes, worn and weathered and ratty from time and relentless action, she holds an aura of absolute astonishing magnificence. From her grey eyes, to her softly upturned nose, to her full, pouty lips, she is nothing short of breathtaking. Neither her Elven lineage nor her ability to utilize magic is successful in deterring him from watching, gaping, helplessly wishing to just simply allow a hand to brush against her smooth flesh without the barrier of a steel glove between them. Even deeper down lurks a desire that has been forming for months, perhaps longer, to allow himself closer to her – or to at least try.

His infatuation had developed over many months of just casually interacting with and observing her, but he would be struck down as a liar if he said there was no pivotal point that made him stare so longingly at her as he did now. No, there was most certainly a moment that would be forever engrained into his mind for as long as he lived…a moment that he would keep locked in his mind for all eternity…

_Her loyalty and devotion to both the Circle and her studies always made his head spin with envy and astonishment. So many that came here were spiteful, scared, bitter, heartbroken, devastated, lonely – all with good reason, of course. Magic was dangerous, but he could always understand and relate to the distinct feeling of isolation that came with the means of tempering that danger. Yet while others still wept for their families and homes years after being brought here, she remained silent about her suffering, indulged in her efforts to become a suitable, reliable mage that others would aspire to look up to. There were always brief moments, however, that he could catch glimpses of her sadness and loneliness. It was an expression that lingered in her eyes, an expression that caused her brow to crease, and her face to contort momentarily into something of a look that he could only describe as "beautifully melancholy". _

_But all too soon, it would promptly vanish, and her features would relax and return to normal, not a single soul none the wiser. Except him. _

_Her head tilted back up, tucking her chin restlessly into the palm of her fragile looking hand while her eyes fluttered shut. He could hear an exasperated sigh leave her pink, full lips, breath causing her coppery fringe to shift and settle out of her eyes. For a while, she remained perfectly still like that, head lazily tilted at an angle, supported by a thin arm, while her other hand rested flat across the page of the open book before her._

_It was then that he shifted, clearing his throat lightly to make his presence known to her, quickly averting his hazel eyes in case she caught him staring at her. The sudden rustle of fabric made him aware that she had jumped, eyes snapping open and revealing her grey eyes, the flickering candle's flame making the blue bits sparkle._

_Immediately, her face had lit up with a soft pink flush over her cheeks, sitting up straighter and fumbling with her hands before dropping them into her lap. "A-Ah…C-Cullen," she greeted quietly, keeping her own gaze shifted from his. "I didn't…s-see you or hear you come in…I…my apologies…" _

_So like him._

"_A-Ah…oh…it's okay," he replied back, lifting a gloved hand and rubbing lightly at the back of his neck. "Just…um…it's getting quite late and I know you come here often. O-Or so I've been told." Again, he had allowed his eyes to drift back to her, only to dart away again. _

_A drawn out silence settled between the two of them, until finally came the sound of rustling fabric and wood against cold stone. He peered back to her, fixing his eyes on her while she gingerly closed the book she had been reading at the time, tucking the massive thing back into its place on one of the shelves. _

"_Ah, so it is…it gets difficult to tell without sunlight," she murmured, more to herself than to him. Offering a shy smile, she quickly sent him a look before letting her eyes dance back to the floor. "A-Ah…thank…thank you for telling me. Goodnight, Cullen." And like she had lit a fire under her feet, she quickly shuffled from the room, head bowed down shyly as she briskly passed him and swiftly entered the hallway. _

_He had simply stared after her, intoxicated and completely distracted, stirred only when he recognized the faint aroma of something sweet hanging in the air. It must've been her. Sighing, he had begun to make his way back to his post outside the apprentice mages' quarters, armor softly clanking and rattling as he moved. Yet, he paused as something on the ground caught his eye almost instantly. There, snatching all light around it like some kind of magnet, sat a little tear-shaped earring on the ground, the silver braid slightly curled up like a slumbering snake. _

_With clumsy steps and hands, Cullen had plucked it from the ground, inspecting it before bringing it close to his chest plate. He knew all too well who this belonged to, and he knew that she would miss it were she to know she had lost it. With steps perhaps a bit too eager, he had marched down the stairs and through the halls of the tower, mind clouded with things to say when he delivered it back to her. It was a simple task, but for Cullen it was also another excuse to see the woman that he (what he thought was) secretly yearned for. His infatuation left him stumbling over thoughts in his mind whenever she was around or even crossed his mind. Now was certainly no different._

_Without thinking, he had stepped quietly into the apprentices' quarters, finding not a single candle lit except ones coming from the washing area. He at the time had figured her to be brushing her long hair, tending to it before going to bed. In hindsight, he really should have realized that it would be rude to simply assume such things. But he had, and he moved forward while holding the earring delicately pinched between his forefinger and thumb._

_Before he could open his mouth, his eyes lifted when he stepped to the archway of the washing area, freezing mid-step and moving not a single muscle. From where he stood, he could see her naked back, long hair swept over her shoulders. In that instant, Cullen had become nothing more than a solid statue, mouth lightly hanging open as he helplessly watched. Like earlier, she seemed oblivious to his presence, and this time around, he had not been so eager to get her attention. Instead, he merely stood frozen in place, eyes struggling to look away but unable to snap off of her body. Her smooth skin was spotted with little droplets of water, muscles twitching and moving as she occasionally moved to clean off a part of her body while she sat in the tub. _

_With sheer willpower, he compelled himself to move and respond, hastily placing the earring onto the vanity to the left of the archway before hurriedly rushing out before he was noticed. By the time he had returned to his post, his face was glowing red like a fire, chest heaving in and out while he frantically tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. How could he control himself after seeing such a thing? Such tender curves, ones that were always cloaked beneath thick robes, had been unknowingly exposed to him. _

_Closing his eyes, Cullen took another breath, once more willing himself to calm down, to collect himself. In the months to come, he would find that image being among many things that only made her more desirable…_

"Cullen!" A voice snapped the Templar from his reminiscing, making him stand up straighter and become alert once more to his surroundings.

The shy demeanor seemed to fall away from him as he obediently turned his head towards the Knight-Commander, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Knight-Commander," he stated sternly, latching his eyes onto the man. "What is it you need of me, ser?"

"I have chosen you to bear perhaps one of the most important duties that the Templars have," Greagoir started, quickly continuing so that he could silence Cullen's words of inquiry. "You are being charged with the task of striking the killing blow on an apprentice should a demon invade their body during their Harrowing."

Cullen nodded firmly. "Yes, ser."

"Very good. Meet myself and the First Enchanter in the Harrowing Chamber immediately. I will have another Templar escort Luneth to the chamber…"

Immediately, Cullen stumbled in his steps, freezing as he stared unflinchingly at the Knight-Commander. He had been decided as the designated slayer for Luneth's Harrowing? Swallowing down words of objection and replacing the horror in his mind with reminders of his obedience to the Chantry, Cullen steadily regained his pace as he followed after Greagoir.

The object of his affections, the woman which he helplessly sought after, was at risk by his own hand now. Swallowing back everything he could, he tried to remain pokerfaced, and tried to ignore that his treasure was now at risk of getting stolen away.


	2. Harrowing

**Author's Note: **Alright, let's see how this next chapter fairs. Enjoy and keep reading. Also, apology for lack of speed in updates. I have work all week and sometimes it just leaves my brain in a bit of a heap of mush. But I'll do my best to keep updating! Also, since I find it INCREDIBLY boring to just basically recite the dialogue word for word back to you, I've taken some liberty on dialogue and such. Where would the originality be if I were to just re-type everything for you all to re-read? Sounds boring to me. So enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original.

**Two**

_Harrowing_

So many words seemed to have had passed through First-Enchanter Irving's mouth, all words that Luneth hung onto with an eagerness that only she seemed to have. His raspy, age-worn voice had long been her virtual lifeline, the thing that she considered the most steadfast and stable in this entire tower. Sure, the Senior Enchanters had their wisdom and their hindsight, but Irving had seemingly so many more years ahead of them, so much more knowledge to bear and offer to all pupils that stepped foot in this gilded cage.

"You will not fail, child," he assured her, all too aware of the way the Knight-Commander looked ready to leap forward and pry them apart. Still, he spoke with that familiar gentility and kindness that Luneth had grown up to hearing, had grown accustomed to. It was as if they still had all the time in the world for this Harrowing, all the time in the world for his assurances and encouragements. "Remember that the Fade is but a realm of dreams…the spirits that reside within it may rule it, but always remember that your will is always your own…"

"Irving, the apprentice is meant to take this trial on her own," Greagoir chimed in, this time stepping forward with a loud clang of his armor against the stone. Turning sharply, Luneth peered at him, tearing her gaze from Irving and staring at him. "Approach the lyrium, the essence of your power…and enter the Fade. Should you fail, apprentice, we Templars will not hesitate to do what we must…we will cut you down, and any abomination or demon that may come with. You will die."

Inhaling, there was only the sound of breathing coming to Luneth's ears as her eyes latched firmly onto the little metal podium, glowing with a soft blue light. She had spent so much of her life here, almost all of it in fact. That time had been spent rigorously studying, studying in between lessons, studying while she ate dinner in the commons, studying until she fell asleep into the very pages which she so fervently latched herself to. So many grueling nights and days learning and educating herself, strengthening her will, reminding herself that abominations could only penetrate the weakest of minds – and she would not be fooled. Her time spent here had not been of play and leisure, she had dedicated every ounce of herself to learning of the very gift she had been given, which was also a curse that condemned her to this trial in the first place. Preparation, long nights, endless research and studying, it would not all be for naught; she refused it to be so.

With eager steps, Luneth approached the little stand, timid demeanor seeming to crumble and fall apart to make way for a confidence that only the most wise mages held. Today, she would undoubtedly become a mage, a full mage, and realize her efforts and passion all these years was not in utter vain. Her fingers reached out, hand outstretched, and all too suddenly, the room seemed to flood with light, a type of light that she had never witnessed before! Blinking, Luneth felt almost an alarming panic seep into her system, desperately wanting to shake off the freezing sensation that trickled into her very veins from touching the lyrium. But all too quickly, she had been drawn right into this strange place of dreams – greeted with terrifying landscape and twisted, gnarled statues. So it begins…

_The Four Schools of Magic. Creation, Entropy, Primal, and Spirit. Each one was counterbalanced by another, forming a scale that made everything seemingly even out. Creation's balancing force and complement is Entropy, while Primal's is Spirit. Yet while they all had their pros and their cons, Luneth had always found herself captivated by Creation. The School of Nature, second in the Schools of Matter. It is a magic that is rarely mastered, so many of those that indulge all of their time and effort in high demand._

_They make healers, useful as much in times of peace as they are in times of raging war. But being brought from the tower to aid the wounded and have some kind of freedom was not what attracted Luneth. No, no._

_It had merely been the discipline that it required – it was far more demanding to study than any other school. Finesse and grace and focus and skill beyond all measure was expected when using this magic. Manipulating natural forces, fabricating something new into being – it was something that Luneth found beyond fascinating. And helpful. _

"_I…want to…help people," she had once confided to Cullen. "Mages…always, well almost always, associate power with their…gift. But that…will only cause more justification for fear of us. Wh-Why not…help them? Heal their wounds…m-maybe when I become a mage, I can…become a mentor that can teach these younger apprentices that…m-magic is not just all fire and ice and demons…"_

_Luneth was utterly selfless. Her dream had always been to educate the apprentices on their gifts, to encourage calmness in the mind and dedicate her training to the School of Creation._

"_Sp-Spirit…healer," she had continued. "I want to be a Spirit Healer…th-their skill is far beyond any…r-regular mage's knowledge. B-But that may make me…a target for demons, since…I-It requires so much beyond the Veil. B-because of this, I will make sure my will is impenetrable. I-I will be vigilant and…help!" Such fire in her grey eyes, her voice quiet but excited, determination flashing over her beautiful features. _

Luneth sighed, rubbing her head softly as she looked around herself. So many times she had set foot into the Fade while she slept, but never had she consciously come. In this oddly hazy place, she could make out the strangest, most peculiar things, things fabricated in the image of what dreamers' had in their minds. Cautiously, she took a few steps, ever alert as she patiently awaited for herself to retain her bearings.

In the distance, always the same distance from anywhere in the Fade, sat the Black City, looming forebodingly with its peculiar architecture and disturbingly dark towers. It was hard to imagine that that place, so evidently consumed by darkness now, was believed to once have been the seat of the Maker. The hubris of men, as the Chantry said, had been what tainted the entire place, allowing their selfish intentions to seep deep into the roots and devastate the place as a whole. Peeling her gaze away, Luneth lifted her head high, eyes watchful as she moved through the Fade…

She would not fail and she would not be tricked.


	3. Daylight

**Author's Note: **Nothing really to add. Just enjoy, everyone! I guess this is where it kind of begins to split off from the original plotline? Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for being patient with postings. Work is definitely a killer. Haha.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original. (Boy am I getting good at copy-pasting these disclaimers! Haha.)

**Three**

_Daylight_

From the instant that she had crumpled to the ground after touching the lyrium, Cullen tensed. It was as if he was hardly breathing anymore, gauntlet covered palms sweating and feeling sticky. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fingers flexing as he stared intently at her motionless body. Through the thick quilted fabric of her robes, he could see her chest rising and falling steadily, showing that she was indeed still alive. Her thin frame lay sprawled across the cold, stone floor, basked in the glowing blue hue of the lyrium that seeming pulsed in the little podium in the center of the chamber.

He wondered what sort of horrors Luneth was facing right now; he wondered if she was scared or terrified or unable to go on. Every once in a while, his eyes would close for a bit longer than a standard blink, and he would draw in a breath through his nose before allowing his hazel eyes to unveil themselves from behind his lids. Eventually, his breath would tumble back out from his nostrils with nothing more than a soft wooshing sound. The process would soon repeat itself again and again for Maker knows how long.

"…_a mentor that can teach these younger apprentices that magic is not just all fire and ice and demons…" _

Cullen took another breath, sharper, deeper. Held it.

"_I will make sure my will is impenetrable. I will be vigilant and help!"_

His breath caught in his lungs for a moment, unable to escape, unable to let anything further flow in. His eyes opened, and for a moment he had to remind himself to stay composed, to stay calm. He was, first and foremost, a Templar in this Tower. If this meant casting away all human emotion when it came to his duties, then so be it. Yet the concept of this task was far easier to think about than it was to go about doing it.

His lungs deflated as he let out the breath that he had unknowingly been holding for some time now, eyes drifting from the First Enchanter to the Knight-Commander. Both were so stoic and unfazed, seemingly untouched by the way that Luneth continued to lay motionless on the cold, hard ground. Finally, his eyes followed theirs, resting on the lithe elven woman that had not moved for quite some time now. The only sign of her being alive was the delicate rise and fall of her chest beneath her thick robes. How much longer would her body continue to remain on the cold floor of this chamber?

Harrowings seemed to always last forever. He pondered, briefly, if that's what it felt like to the apprentices within the Fade. Did it feel like time passed by slowly for them, too? Were they even aware of time passing at all? Did they know how long they slumbered, how many hours had passed in reality while they went about their business in the Fade?

Cullen dragged in another breath, this one requiring effort as he continued to remind himself that she would endure and prevail. Yet, at the same time, there was that lingering doubt and terror in his mind that made him all too aware of what needed to be done should she simply…not prevail. The unpleasant thought made his lungs tighten, his chest suddenly feeling hollow with his heart slowing down. Would there be a fate more cruel than such? To simply cut down a demon that dared take the face and body and voice of the object of his affections? To take something so…pure and genuine. He grimaced at the thought, but hid it by rubbing a gloved hand over his wary visage, hiding behind it for a couple moments before dragging his digits down.

Before he could drop his hand to his side, a larger one clapped down onto his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts and making him turn his head sharply. His hazel eyes met Greagoir's, which he hastily turned his face away from while his expression maintained complete neutrality again.

"Keep your wits about you, son," the Knight-Commander stated, his hand dropping off of Cullen's shoulder while his eyes shifted towards Luneth. "Your hand must always be ready to make use of your blade before the demon makes use of his…" A simple gesture of his head towards Luneth made it clear that the blade, in that case, would be her. Cullen nodded stiffly, saying nothing in reply while his eyes remained firmly latched onto her. Would he not be able to do it, to strike her down if need be, he would be abandoning his duty and endangering everyone else in this Tower. He was fully aware that being a Templar was a not a path for the faint of heart. He needed to continue to be devoted to his duties and do so for the safety of everyone…even if that meant leaving his desires behind. His life was no longer about himself, that much he knew.

His eyes didn't close, his breathing didn't halt, his heartbeat did not cease. Yet still, he recalled the sound of her voice again, ringing in his mind like soft jingling from a wind chime, distant but prominent…and beautiful.

"_We…all have a duty…d-don't we, C-Cullen?" She asked him. At the time, she was precariously balancing a stack of thick books in her slender, willowy arms, peeking out around them to send him a shy, timid smile._

"_I…yes. Yes, we do." He watched her like a complete dolt as she strained to balance the comically wobbly stack._

"_I…don't see why…Templars are hated so," she had murmured, pausing in her movements to furrow her brow, looking as if she were intently mulling over her words. "People fear mages…f-fear magic, but a-a lot…d-don't look kindly on the Templars, either…" One of her feet lifted, taking a step forward, which caught on the hem of the thick rug beneath her feet. With a shrill cry of surprise, she stumbled forward. Yet she did not hit the ground._

_Cullen had stopped her in a moment of impulse, one hand steadying the wobbling pile of books while the other settled briefly on her hip. Blinking, Cullen had ensured she was steady on her feet before stepping back, one hand quickly latching to the back of his neck as he awkwardly cleared his throat. _

_Finally, while still keeping his gaze averted, he took the entire stack of books from her hands, exposing her red face._

"_I…ah…think people don't realize how important some duties are…t-to keep them safe." Cullen sighed and placed the books easily onto one of the massive tables, casting her a brief glance before looking away again._

"_I…I-I guess…a lot of people think carrying out certain duties should be easy…"_

"_R-Right…Templars…my…our duty is a heavy one. To protect the mages from themselves, to eliminate those that were…u-unable to…ah…it's…definitely not an easy one," he paused, looking at her. "What…would you say a mage's duty is? W-Well…your duty?"_

_Luneth had paused, cocking her head to one side before letting a genuine, sincere smile slide over her pale face. Her silvery-grey eyes settled onto Cullen._

"_To live."_

At the time, Cullen didn't really understand her answer, but suddenly, staring at her serene face, he understood. To live, she had said. To make it through the Harrowing. His features momentarily contort into something tense and apprehensive, but quickly it ebbed away back into a passive state. Furthermore, it seemed as though she would hold no grudge against him. They had their duties.

She knew what his was.

Unlike many mages, she seemed to respect that duty. She truly was one a kind, wasn't she?

Inhale. There was movement. Cullen's hand immediately lifted to settle on the hilt of his blade, still sheathed upon his back. He barely registered anything. The rustling of robes, the familiar clanking of steel armor.

Then Irving's voice. "So it is done…she has passed the Harrowing."

Cullen's eyes bolt to him, hand immediately abandoning the blade and dropping to his side as he ignored all common sense and moved forward, lingering over Luneth with Greagoir and Irving. Hours and literally passed? He fought the smile that desperately sought place on his face, ignoring it with all of his might.

"Good. Means one less rambunctious apprentice we have to worry about," Greagoir muttered, standing up straight and looking to Irving, who nodded curtly. "Take her back to the apprentice's dormitory and set her in her bed. Come the time when she fully wakes up, Irving can deal with the nonsense that follows a successful Harrowing." Irving let out a grunt at that, but stood upright and shook his head, heading towards the stairs that lead downwards out of the chamber. Already, Cullen could hear the pair bickering back and forth, voices fading from earshot before disappearing altogether.

Glancing downwards, he finally knelt down at Luneth's side, taking a brief glimpse around before daring to tuck a piece of her coppery hair behind one of her long, pointed ears. The smile that had wanted to spread over his face before finally did, the corners of his eyes wrinkling a bit in pure joy and bliss. After selfishly enjoying the rare moment of private peace, he retracted his hand from her face before scooping her up. It was a bit clumsy, but after adjusting her carefully in his arms, he found that she was quite light. No surprise there, honestly.

His steps were delicate and careful, his eyes darting his way and that to make sure that he didn't end up hitting her head against anything as he moved. Through the windows that sat near the top of these high, vaulted ceilings, he could see the precursor of daylight sneaking through. Night had come and gone, and in those few hours where darkness reigned, Luneth had passed her Harrowing. As the sun rose, she had succeeded. She was not lost to him.

Quickly, before any apprentices or mages stirred from their slumbers, Cullen slipped into their quarters, inching towards her bed. Delicately, he shifted her body once more, placing her peaceful body on the raggedy mattress. Casting one final look around him, he sent her a fond smile and moved her hair again.

At the slightest noise, though, his hand slipped away and he back off, all but panicking and vanishing from the room. His heart raced, and the blood pumping through his veins felt hot, so very hot…but Luneth was okay. Luneth was a mage. She would die at his hand. She would live.

And so would he.


End file.
